Hellooo, Tatooine!
by Hurdy
Summary: Ever wondered what evil Sith lords do on their days off?


Hellooo, Tatooine ****

Hellooo, Tatooine!

__

Hellooo, Tatooine! What a beautiful morning for a Pod-race! Today's race is a special one: not only is it the seven-hundredth Bunta-Classic, but today also sees the return to the Galactic Pod-racing Circuit of, from fifty years' retirement, the only human ever to compete in – let alone win_ – a pod-race, the Dark Lord of the Sith, the Emperor's second-in-command: **Daaarth Vader!** Otherwise known as that galactic favourite: **Anakiiin Skyyywalker!**_

***

In the pits, Vader grimaced. He hadn't heard that name in decades, and as the name entered his system, with it flooded a thousand painful memories. Memories from when he had been young, weak, ignorant. He shook his head and continued with his 'work'.

"Lord Vader, will you be requiring this?" asked one of the troopers under his command. Slowly, Vader tore his eyes away from the magazine.

"The only thing I will _not_ be requiring, Lieutenant," Vader growled, "is _you_." The Lieutenant collapsed, unable to breathe. Vader's eyes returned to their detailed inspection of the women in the magazine.

"Anakin? Anakin!" said a voice. Vader again removed his eyes from the page. "My word," the voice was saying, "haven't you grown. You're twice the size of me, you got yourself a decent job evilly ruling the Galaxy and your mature enough to know the anatomy of a female Twi'lek." Vader quickly shut the magazine.

"What do you want, Watto," Vader demanded. "I know you. You wouldn't have come to see me if there weren't some way you were planning to profit from the visit."

"Alright! Alright!" The Toydarian threw up his hands in agitation. "I was wondering if, since I practically raised you and all, you would do me a favour…?"

"_What_, Watto?"

"Um… could you just… err… I want you to lose the race."

"**_What?_**"

"I bet all the money I have on Sebulba, and – if you lose – I might win something for a change." Watto displayed his friendliest smile – which wasn't a pretty site. Vader's expression, despite being hidden by his mask, could have etched durasteel. "If it's a bad time for you," Watto said quickly, backing for the door, "then I'm sorry. Just forget that I came… heh heh…" Watto suddenly bolted for the door, but Vader, moving at Jedi speeds, blocked his path. "Please don't kill me…" Watto muttered.

"Oh, Watto, you know me better than that," said Vader, putting his arm around the creature's shoulders. Watto visibly sighed with relief. "No," Vader continued, "I don't want to see you _dead._ I want to see you _suffer!_" And, before Watto could react, Vader had drawn his lightsabre and sliced the creature's leathery wings off. Ignoring the screams, Vader put his feet up, and turned back to the Twi'lek in the magazine.

***

Meanwhile, Corporal Svatz was negotiating with terrorists.

"Ten-thousand? I'm getting fifteen from the Empire just for being here."

The other negotiator muttered something, and the protocol-droid translated: "The good master offers twenty."

The corporal looked his opponent in the eyes. "Fifty," he said.

His opponent stumbled backwards in shock. He then spoke his offer to the droid: "Twenty-five."

"Forty," demanded Svatz.

"Thirty," came the reply.

"Thirty-five."

"_Thirty._"

Svatz didn't blink. "Thirty-five."

"**_Thirty._**"

"I will be causing the death of the second most powerful being in the Empire. I think that is worth _at least_ thirty-five-thousand Credits."

The other negotiator growled, but made no move. Instead, he muttered something barely audible to the droid, who said, "The master says that we _may_ be able to find thirty-five, if we employ a good slicer." The droid received a snarl from its master: evidently it was not supposed to have translated the second part.

Svatz said nothing, but nodded and walked away in the direction of the hangers. His Dug employer proceeded to tear the surva-motors from his droid as punishment for its mistake.

***

"Where have you been, Corporal?" demanded Vader.

Thinking fast, Svatz was able to come up with an almost-plausible story: "I was making an agreement with terrorists intent on killing you, Lord Vader, and therefor causing the downfall and eventual destruction of the Empire as we know it."

"Very good," said Vader, "remind me to promote you when we return to the _Devastator_."

"Err…Yes, Sir!" said a rather confused Svatz, saluting. The Corporal turned and walked away. Only then did Vader look up from the magazine and try, in vane, to remember the conversation that had just occurred.

***

Svatz stared up at the huge contraption towering over him. The main body and cockpit of Vader's pod (the _Dictator_) was a modified _TIE Interceptor_ (wings and engines removed) which had been altered for the aerodynamics of this new purpose – apparently Vader had wanted to be in familiar surroundings during races. To make up for the extra weight and air-resistance caused by having a roof and walls as extra protection (not that the Dark Lord of the Sith needed any) the engines needed to be huge, and they were. They were the type used in _Authority_-Class Shuttles…and there were four of them. Svatz walked under the behemoth, jumping cables and ducking under power-lines, until he reached his target.

While the shell of the _Interceptor_ had been drastically altered, the engines were exactly the same as they had been when they had powered imperial shuttles. In accordance they had all the unneeded extras of shuttle engines: Twenty-one speed sub-light drives, almost instant braking, advanced turning capabilities…… hyperdrive……

Svatz grinned. One flick of a switch was all it would take…


End file.
